I remember falling in love with writing was when I was nine years old. Summer was upon us, but rather than the adventure that awaited me outside, I was drawn to the adventure indoors. Ravenously reading a book on Helen Keller, I digested that reading into thoughts and those thoughts into writing. I was nourished. I remember pages and pages of penciled understanding of what I had just read. I wanted to capture it a second time—but this time from my mind, not the author’s. How I wish now that I had those loose-leaf pages!
But alas I was to grow up in an atmosphere that didn’t allow holding on to scribbled pages—there was no room for such nonsense, transferring from air base to air base every few years. But here’s the beauty of memory, it requires no boxes, no moving vans, no unpacking. It travels with you year after year,city to city, country to country. It is joy recalled at a moment’s notice. And if you want to put joy to paper or, in this case, joy on display, you simply begin memory’s writing.
I think my desire to write started in 7th grade when my English teacher encouraged me to enter something in a school district writing contest. I won an honorable mention, and my writing was published in an anthology of entries. It's interesting that we can recall these instances so clearly, don't you think? I'm so glad you're joining the blogging world! Love the blog! Love you!
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